Her Decision
by Kat Bee Dee
Summary: Robert is haunted by terrible memories, and they WON'T go away. Ever.


_Another piece for my fans. Love you all! Sorry that you miss my original so much._

_I own none of the characters. The idea for Enchanted is completely the work of Walt Disney studios not me._

Her Decision

Robert didn't trust himself. He hated himself, truth be it. You might hate yourself too if you had the same thing happen to you. It happened again. He was alone. She was gone. He couldn't decide what hurt worse; being left by choice, or by force. The numbness was overwhelming. And each and every day he was haunted. Haunted by her ghost.

The ghost needed him though. It cried for him. It smiled at him. It lived off of him. Without him, it simply wouldn't live at all. And he loved that ghost. He loved it to the point where he found himself insane. And yet he hated it too, at the same time. Forever it would haunt him with those eyes, those lips, that nose, that hair. It was by far the most beautiful ghost he had ever seen. It looked just like her. And she was gone. So he clung to the ghost, unwilling to let that last piece of her drift away.

Her last words always echoed in his mind, so clear. Sometimes he thought she was standing right next to him. But every time he turned to see her, it was only the wind whistling in his ear. He clung to the memory of her voice. That sweet, unbearable voice. He had the ghost to remind him daily of her face, but not her voice. This ghost didn't speak. He only had his imagination and memory to speak to her with. Sometimes he spoke to the ghost as if it really were her. But it wasn't. He knew it. Other times he would speak to the ghost about her. Not a single ear on the face of the earth heard a thing about her from Robert besides the small ears of the ghost. He didn't even talk to Morgan about her. He knew he ought to talk to Morgan about her, but he couldn't. And that seemed fine by the little girl, who brought her up just as often; never.

Pain ripped through Robert's chest, tearing at his heart, and numbing his brain. It had only been a month since she disappeared. Vanished from his life. Going as quickly as she came. He was angry with her for leaving. It wasn't fair to him. It wasn't fair to Morgan. And it certainly wasn't fair to the ghost. And to think that she _knew _about it all along! Though she hadn't said a word. She wouldn't. Those last words might not have meant anything to him at the time they were spoken, but he understood them now. Those people, the ones with the solemn faces and the white coats, they told him. They told him what happened. And then, they told him she knew. She had known about it for months at that point. If he had known—if he had known he would have done everything different. Absolutely everything. He felt like an asshole for not being able to treat her the way he could have—should have—those last weeks. He felt that it was his fault. Entirely his fault. And yet, he blamed it on her too.

It should have been different. Everything should have been different. There should have been flowers. He should have told her he loved her. But he didn't have time. Why did everything have to be controlled by time? Time grasps our lives like an iron fist. It takes charge of everything we do and say. And when we forget about time, when we let it slip by as if it were a luxury we can do without, we end up getting hurt. Because you wake up. And you realize that all that _time _you wasted could have been spent doing or saying something worthwhile. Robert would give the world for just a little more time with her. Time flew by with her. And now, it stood still. Seconds passed like hours. Long, dreadful hours that he had to endure. He froze in time. He froze, and everything else in the world carried on. And life carried on as well, leaving him in the past. Leaving him in the past with her.

The ghost screamed. He turned head to look across the room. The ghost wanted him. It needed him at this absurdly late hour of night. It needed him to hold it and sooth it back to sleep. Robert couldn't ignore the ghost. It was physically impossible for him to sit there and listen to it. So he gave in again, moving across the room.

"Shh, baby, don't cry," Robert spoke softly to it, taking the tiny figure up into his arms, "It's okay, Daddy's here."

It found contentment in Robert's strong arms, its cries residing to pathetic whimpers as he rocked it slowly. Although he had managed to suffice the creature, it refused to close its eyes and drift back to sleep. Those eyes. Staring at him. Boring into his skull. He couldn't bear it. A tear slipped down his cheek, and in a moment's notice he felt as vulnerable and small as that little ghost. He made his way back over to the edge of their bed. He refused to think of it as "his" bed. Because it wasn't. Not to him. She would want to claim her place by his side when she returned—at least, he convinced himself so. So it was still "their" bed. Robert sat on the edge of the mattress, holding onto that little ghost as if he were afraid it would disappear too. Leaving him more alone than before.

"Why'd you leave me?" Robert whispered, though it wasn't directed at the ghost. "How could you possibly think that I could bear this again? You knew! You knew I did the same with Morgan. Is that why you thought I could handle it? Because I had done it before? You were wrong…so wrong, Giselle. This isn't my baby, it's yours. You didn't even _see _her! She's beautiful. She looks exactly like you. I was so excited. Giselle, I was so ready. I didn't realize I was excited for—for your…You abandoned me."

It was truly how he felt. It wasn't a passing feeling that came and went, either. It wasn't that at all. No, it was _every single time he saw her_. This gorgeous baby girl. Sometimes it was her fault too, Giselle's death. Robert was so angry that he had enough hatred for himself to pass around to everyone. To find a reason to blame anyone and everyone for what happened. But at the end of the day, when he was too worn out to blame anyone else, he knew the truth was that it wasn't anyone's fault. It had simply been a choice. It wasn't his to make. It was Giselle's. And she chose not to consult about her decision. Which made him all the more angry at her.

She could have at least told him that she made the decision on her own and she didn't want his input. That way he could have used that time wisely. But maybe, just maybe, she knew _exactly _what she was doing. Maybe she had planned all of this. Maybe she mapped out every single decision of how to deal with the entire event of her death. Especially when she knew it was coming. She knew. She knew because they told. Robert hadn't known _anything_. But now, after she was already gone, he realized what was going. He realized why she acted so strangely that night after she came home from her ultrasound. The one he missed for work. After that missed ultrasound, she had told him not to worry about them anymore. Which worked out fine with his work schedule. She had been so quiet that night. Her brow creased with thought. She hadn't made the decision yet. She was consulting with herself whether or not she should tell him. Of course, she chose not to. He remembered her holding her swollen stomach that night, and how that tear slipped down her cheek. Robert had no idea how he had let her get away without telling him what was going on.

Four months later when she woke up in pain, he rushed her to the hospital. How she went that long knowing, he hadn't a clue. It was blinding pain, he knew. And she fought to the very end. She didn't go peacefully. There was more pain than Robert thought her capable of enduring. But she held on until she knew that baby was safe. At least the baby came fast and put Giselle out of her pain quickly. Robert knew that having a baby was extremely painful in the first place, but later the doctors would tell him that Giselle had it 2 to 3 times worse than what average labor was. Giselle had braced herself for four months for that day. The doctors would also later tell Robert of the choice Giselle made four months ago. He hated those doctors for telling him. He yelled at them and swore at them and told them they were liars. But it was true. What they said was true. They told him just precisely what they had told his wife.

"We're sorry, Mrs. Phillip, but there isn't anything we can do about it. It's your baby, or you."

Batty looked just like her. She was so much like her that Robert could almost swear that she was Giselle's ghost come back to haunt him. Batty's curls of red hair, her pink lips, her wide blue eyes, her adorable pointy nose, it was all exactly like her mother's. Robert sometimes blamed her for what happened. But her couldn't. He loved her too much. And he knew why Giselle made the choice that she did. And though it hurt him terribly to admit it, he understood why she chose the life of this baby she would never meet over her own. And her last words to him on the way to the hospital made a world of sense to him.

"I love you, Robert. But for goodness sake, you _better _be ready to be this baby's daddy."

_Oh, puh-lease please review and tell me what you think! I've had this plot bunny for a long time, and I hope it's as great as I thought it was. _


End file.
